


Grand Designs

by DemonAngelSakina



Series: Grand Designs [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alchemy, Blood, Death, Horror, Insanity, Mental Instability, Psychological Torture, Violence, alchemist, asshole victims, trigger warning, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 21:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14221815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonAngelSakina/pseuds/DemonAngelSakina
Summary: They took everything...But...Maybe there is a way to get it all back.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Moving this and the interludes and other pieces of this story to AO3.
> 
> Features my vampire alchemist OC, Dante and...well, read and find out.  
> Please enjoy my foray into horror-esc writing.
> 
> Warnings: murder, mentions of child abuse (Act 1), mentions of kidnapping & underage rape (Act 2), and psychological torture...but the murder--save the ones related to children in Act 2--and psychological torture are the only things detailed. You have been warned.

_Rain pouring down--cold, yes...but mostly unfelt; too numb to care...too torn apart...too empty._

_Discharged gunpowder still lingering in the air--acrid...sickening. Can't be washed away._

_Blood everywhere...too much blood--can't survive losing so much. Can't be washed away--can't be unseen._

_Flashing lights--red, blue...together, separate. Too blurry to pay attention--just spots on the edge of the darkness._

Slowly a head of soaked silver-hair lifted--barely enough for heavily-lined, cat-like green eyes to peer through bloodied bangs, gaze unfocused, at the chaos surrounding them. Bronze-painted lips pressed in a tight line as if the owner were trying in vain to comprehend everything going on around them.

_Three ambulances...too many police cars--firefighters? What good could they do? Not much now...no one can do anything. Everything's already gone._

The figure stayed hunched over where they sat against the soaked brick wall--unmoving as a statue...silent as the dead. A blood-hued guitar lay next them--their leather-clad legs drawn up to their chest. A victim both living and long dead in every sense of the words--blood covered, darkly tanned hands laying limply in the shallow river of water on the ground.

_Sirens--shutting off now...others farther away, getting closer? Moving on? Hard to tell--not important enough._

_Talking now--distant yelling...can't be important; everything's already gone._

Two officers--a man and a woman--were trying to talk to the soaked figure, but their words fell on deaf ears. Those eyes finally focused on the three black bags being placed on three gurneys...the gurneys being loaded into the ambulances. The female knelt next to the figure--laying a gloved hand gently on the duster-clad shoulder.

"Miss. I'm sorry about what's happened to your friends but I need for you to tell us everything you've witnessed here tonight."

_What happened? It was just another gig...another setlist played--it wasn't supposed to end like this. They were supposed to have fun, pack up, head back home to drink beer and plan their next show. They were supposed to plan their first album--not another demo cut in secrecy and released independently. They were supposed to hit it big together one day--live their rock star dreams...they were supposed to make it big._

"Miss?" Came the male's voice--trying to get the silver-haired woman's attention, but she seemed too far gone. "Think she's too far in shock."

_Was just getting their payment--they were loading the battered van. It was only a few minutes..._

The female frowned and was trying to see if the uninjured woman had any ID, but came up with nothing; she looked to her partner in concern as he knelt down and lightly shook her shoulder.

"Miss. Are you hurt anywhere? Can you tell us what happened?"

_Gunshots...three of them. Screaming. Run fast--get outside. Try to save them--call for help! Screaming, pleading--can't think, can't breathe, don't want them to die! Can't lose them!! Not like this!! Never like this!! Heartbeats stop--already long gone...Why?! Why them?! Why everything?!_

The woman's hands shot up and grabbed her head as she began screaming at the onslaught of memories crashing through her brain; the two officers gripped onto her to try and calm her down but their attempts go unheard and ineffective against her strength as she thrashes about against the wall in her sorrow and rage. 

= = =

"...Headline news: Underground band, 'Shadow Hearts', faced devastating losses last night when bassist, Christina Murdock, keyboardist, Tonya Hawthorne, and drummer, Marisol Delgado, were gunned down outside of the 'Ace of Spades' bar and club by an unknown assailant. All three victims were pronounced dead at the scene from singular gunshot wounds to the heart. Lead guitarist and singer, Dante D'Angelo, survived unharmed but has refused to comment on the tragedy. Law enforcement is treating this case as a homicide and Ms. D'Angelo is being questioned solely as a witness and victim of the crime as well as being held in protective custody until the assailant can be captured."

"What a devastating loss to the underground music world. I saw them perform several times--shame...those girls could have been something great."

= = =

The room in the police station is dark but warm--windowless only for her protection. Cat-like green eyes glare around the police officers' bunkroom as memories replay in her head like a horror movie she would prefer to erase. A cruel smile begins to twist on her unpainted lips as she stares into the darkness--no...it doesn't have to be this way. Their dreams can still live on--they can live on...no, they can live again. Familiar energy courses through her--like electrical charges through her hands as claw-like nails dig into the standard issue bedding beneath her seated frame. Her shoulders hunch forward as that cruel smile turns into something positively sinister--a twisted mockery of the mischievous smirk she normally wore.

All she needed to do next was simply gather four simple pieces to the formula--three souls and a proper bargaining chip for Death himself.

None of it should be hard to do--after all...nothing could, nor would, stop her from fulfilling her grand design.


	2. Act 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins...
> 
> Warning for mind control and psychological torture from here on out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes...  
> Dante is highly mentally unstable and enjoys inflicting psychological torture on her victims.  
> At least we can say the victim deserves it?

A storm was coming tonight, heralded by how the moon and stars were hidden by the rolling clouds--but the risk of wind, rain, thunder, and lightning wasn't enough to keep some nestled up, safe and warm, in their homes. The man flipped the collar of his jacket up as he crossed the empty street to the bar, stalking through the door and forcefully commandeering a table from an old man who was too drunk to defend himself--a waitress helping the old man to his feet as the younger man barked out a cruel laugh.

Within a few minutes, a woman slipped in through the door--shaking the water, from the pouring rain outside, off of the tails of her black leather trenchcoat. She walked over to the bar and took a seat on the aged metal stool--her shoulder-length, shaggy-cut silver hair all-but glued to her shoulders, face and neck--and removed the blood red guitar from her back, setting it against the bar. The bartender walked over to her, attemping to get the drenched woman's attention.

"What can I get for you, ma'am?"

Slowly the woman raised her head--khol-lined eyes as green as a cat's glaring from beneath soaked bangs; the bartender froze--her eyes sliding to half-mast as her head bowed slightly. The silver-haired woman raised a tanned hand to the bartender's own--tapping long, claw-like nails against the other woman's pale skin.

"Vodka cranberry." Was all the woman said; the bartender blinked and nodded, setting about to making the drink; once the glass was set infront of the silver-haired woman, the woman turned to glance behind her when one of the waitresses shouted at someone to 'fuck off'. The green-eyed woman tilted her head to one side--anger flickering across her features--as the man laughed at how angry the waitress was before he reached out to grab her again only for the waitress to punch him in the face and run. 

"Fucker wants his damn usual." The waitress all-but snarled to the bartender who nodded and began mixing the gin and geradine; the waitress leaned on the bar--raking her fingers roughly through her short, dark hair; she blinked when a comforting hand patted her shoulder. She looked up into cat-green eyes and the tanned woman smiled--small, perfectly-white teeth as sharp as daggers.

"Don't fret 'nother second, bella. Fate...she has a most lovely way of working out in our favor." Came the smooth Italian accent, the words almost hypnotic; the waitress gave a small nod--her eyes having slid to half-mast at the sound of the other woman's voice. The bartender approached, her posture going stiff when those green eyes turned on her as well; carefully she set the glass of gin and geradine at the tanned woman's hand--her head bowed as if in a show of submission. A smooth chuckle left the green-eyed one's lips as she flicked a small knife from inside the sleeve of her coat--carefully running the slender blade along the underside of her left ring finger, positioning her hand so that the blood fell into the alcohol. She drew her hand back and licked the wound before using the bloody knife to stir the contents.

"Take this to him, and let Fate work her dark magick." The woman whispered as she put the blade away; the waitress nodded and lifted the glass into her hands--taking a moment to blink and shake her head before she walked off. The bartender blinked in confusion then shrugged and returned to her work as the waitress set the glass on the man's table--managing to get away before the man had a chance to grab for her again.

Cat-like eyes glanced over a leather covered shoulder--watching as the man downed the drink; a smirk formed on her lips as she watched--feeling the proverbial hook slipping into the man's mind. She drew her drink to her lips--taking a sip.

An hour passed as the storm began to ebb; the man raised a hand, rubbing at his brow with a wince--his head was throbbing...but he had only drank two gin and geradines--four below his usual limit. With a groan he stumbled to his feet, staggering to the door; he headed through the doorway, slipping and falling on the stairs--what the hell was happening?

He forced himself to his feet, tripping over his own feet down the sidewalk--having to press against walls and lampposts to keep from falling over. All he could think, through the throbbing in his skull, was that the damn bartender or that whore posing as a waitress had done something to his drinks--fucking cunts...he'd have to go back and deal with those two women...teach them their fucking place. He blinked, looking around when he realized he was stumbling through wet grass and thick mud--his eyes going wide when a flash of lightning illuminated the many headstones around him; a cold chill shot down his spine--how the hell had he ended up in the graveyard?!

He turned to try and make his way back to the entrance--where was the entrance?--when he heard the strains of guitar music. He jerked around, trying to find the source...before another flash of lightning set the graveyard alight--revealing the duster-clad figure sitting on a masoleum, playing a guitar. The man snarled, glaring up at the figure--only to grip a hand to his head as the pain worsened.

"Fuck--fucking freak...playing a fucking guitar in a damn graveyard. What the hell's wrong with ya, ya stupid bitch?!" He growled--wishing for anything to stop the pain; the guitar music stopped with the thunder, like a needle jerked away from a record mid-song, and the figure glared down at him.

"Oh...am I hurting you? Guess you just can't take me cutting through your memories and making the blood on your hands visible."

"What the fuck're you talking about?!!" The man yelled--only to cover his eyes when the lightning flashed again and the rain began to pour; when he looked to the masoleum again, the figure was gone. He turned--fucking crazies--only to run into the figure, stumbling backwards and falling on his ass into the mud; the figure looked down at him--cat-like green eyes practically glowing in the darkness as the ice-cold wind sliced through them both--whipping the tails of her leather trenchcoat out behind her. A wicked smirk was on her bronze-painted lips--the flash of lightning throwing up harsh shadows that, for a moment, made the woman look like a monster from the depths of Hell; the second the lightning faded, the woman stepped forward towards him--her steps not even phased by the thick mud beneath her high-heeled boots.

"Simple...I want to play a little game with you. Simple game--easy game...child's game really. You see...I infected you with my blood--I'm the reason your brain feels like it's about to explode--"

"What the--!!" The man started only for the woman to suddenly be on one knee with her hand wrapped around his throat--sharp nails digging into the flesh.

"I am speaking." She said smoothly--tightening her grip just enough for the nails to puncture the flesh and draw tiny rivulets of blood. "Now, as I was saying: I'm why your brain is feeling as if it will explode...and, my little game that we're about to play, it's abit of a 'finding' game--you see, the antidote for what I've done to you, it's in a bottle here in this graveyard...it's out in the open to make things nice and easy; all you have to do is find said-bottle before I find you. Simple, right?"

The man trembled but nodded from fear; the woman's smile was malvolent and dark--a twisted mockery showing only those dagger-sharp teeth.

"Good, good. Now, me giving you a chance is far more than you deserve since I can smell the blood on your hands. You don't need to say a single word--I can see it all in your head...how you batter women and beat your own son into a coma. I should, by all rights, kill you right now...but I feel the need to be sporting...if only for my own entertainment." She practically purred as she released her grip and stood, looking down at the man through unnatural eyes. "You get a five minute headstart...starting now."

The man stumbled to his feet and proceeded to run, staggering and slipping in the thick mud--the rain beginning to pour down hard enough to shroud the graveyard in a icy mist; thunder rolled as the wind howled--lightning the only thing to light the way. The man gripped onto a tree, trying to steady himself through the pain in his skull--the pulsing of his brain; if he were some crazy person...where would he put some...what did she say? A bottle--some kind of bottle! Fucking hell...he didn't even know what it looked like--this was like looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack. 

He stumbled and ran through the graveyard--how long had this gone on? Were the five minutes up? Was she chasing him? Where was that fucking bottle?! The man tripped over a thick root and fell against the trunk of a gnarled old tree--the rough bark scraping the flesh of his cheek as he slid down to one knee. He pulled himself back up--trying to make sense of where he was; it was as if he were going in circles...with the darkness, the storm, everything looking practically the same--a cold shock of dread surged through him...what if this was unwinnable? What if...maybe there wasn't an antidote--maybe she had lied through her teeth because that crazy bitch just wanted to watch him run around like a fucking rat in a cage!

Despite his doubts, he forced himself forward to run--even if he this was all a lie, he could still find the exit or a weapon of some kind--yeah, graveyards had shovels and pick axes and other shit like that. He ran through the mud and overgrown grass--battered sneakers sinking into the thick, black mess as if the corpses beneath were reaching through the muck to drag him down. A flash of lightning illuminated something through the gravestones--the gate, closed...but there it was. Fuck this bitch's crazy game--he was home free!

He ran to the gate, slipping and sliding in the mud until his feet hit the battered cobblestones--overgrown in patches with scraggly grass and moss. He laughed as the thunder rolled and the lightning crashed--just..get to the gate! He sprinted up the path, finally grasping his hands to the wet wrought iron gates and pushed with all his strength...but the gate did not give way. He jerked and pulled before looking down as a flash of lightning illuminated the sky--a thick, rusted chain was wrapped tightly around the bars...held together by a massive, rusted padlock. His heart sank into his stomach at the sight--that...how? He came in this way, didn't he? He had to have come in this way--how and when did it get locked up? It looked like it hadn't been open in years...decades...so how the hell?! His eyes went wide when he heard the strains of guitar music slicing through the thunder--cold sweat rising along his back...she was close, too close. He turned and fled--abandoning the gate...maybe there was a second entrance...there had to be a second entrance!

He fled back through the graveyard--even the lightning wasn't helping him now...the thunder drowning out the guitar's melody, turning the song into an eerie, disjointed strains. Panic and fear were rising violently in his mind--he couldn't tell where she was...where the music was coming from, the thunder and wind were her allies. Everything looked the same, as if the darkness were taking over faster than the lightning could come. His sneakers were lost to the grasping muck--bare feet sliding in the mud and the cold surging through him from the pouring rain. Trees seemed to reach out and grab for him--gnarled branches resembling the clawed hands of corpses as they grasped and tore into his clothes and scraped along his skin. A thick root seemed to rise up in his path and caught his foot--he tumbled forward, crashing to his stomach into the mud and sliding on his side into a headstone. 

He gritted his teeth, trying to not scream out in pain from his now-twisted ankle; he drew his leg up as he pushed himself up to sit. A sharp flash of lightning illuminated the graveyard and revealed the figure of an angel, carved from weathered black marble, standing tall above a grave like an obelisk--a glass bottle, almost a vial really, visible in her outstretched hands. Relief flooded his senses--that...that had to be it. He forced himself up and limped to the angel--a hoarse laugh escaped from him...an angel was his salvation from the devil hunting him...a fucking angel. He reached up, managing to wrestle the bottle from the angel's fine hands--her dispassionate, hollow eyes watching unchanged as he gripped the bottle that could be his salvation against everything.

"I won, bitch!! You fucking hear me?! I fucking won!!" He said with a howl of laughter before jerking the cork out of the bottle and upending the reddish-colored liquid into his mouth. When the bottle was empty, he dropped to his knees--gagging violently as his hands clawed into the mud; he jerked his head up to look at the angel...seeing the duster-clad figure leaning comfortably over the statue's left shoulder--amused cat-green eyes focused on him with a sadistic glee.

"Correction...I won." Came the smooth, Italian accent as the woman stepped down from the pedestal with the grace of a model on a catwalk. The man choked and glared up at her--blood running from the corners of his mouth; his eyes widened in horror when the flash of lightning revealed a circle carved deep into the muddy ground beneath him.

"You...you fucking s-said you'd l-let me l-live if I found the f-fucking bottle."

"When did I say that? I simply said that you just had to find it--I never said you would get to live." The woman said as she knelt down, drawing a silver vial on a silver chain from inside her coat and hooking the chain around the man's head--the vial's opening pressed against his lips. Her eyes took on an inhuman glow as the lightning crashed down--masking the clap of her ungloved hands. Crimson light flooded the man's vision as sheer agony overloaded his senses.

When the light dissipated, the woman reached into the mud and carefully lifted the silver chain; she chuckled, watching as the softly glowing vial swung lightly from it's chain. She tilted her head back with a laugh--raising her other hand to caress the vial as if it were a priceless treasure...and to her, it was--it was something so precious, infinitely so.

"No. Your wretched life has come to an end, but fear not, you do have a purpose--a lovely purpose...a place in my grand design." She said as she slipped the vial and chain back into her coat pocket; a twisted glee on her face as she reached behind the angel statue and pulled out her guitar--strapping it onto her back. Slowly, the tanned woman stepped onto the pedestal and lifted herself up, placing a kiss to the center of the statue's upraised palm in a twisted form of reverence.

"You have my thanks, milady...for your assistance this most delightful evening." She whispered, caressing a tanned hand over the slick surface of the statue's sculpted hair, before she stepped back down into the mud with a cruel laugh. She tilted her head back--her silver mane glued to her face and neck--and held her arms out from her, twirling in a circle as the pouring rain washed over her...as if the Heavens above were washing away the act she had just committed.

"One down...two to go."


	3. Act 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One down...  
> Two down...  
> One to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dante...  
> Your worry me sometimes, sweetheart.
> 
> Warnings ahead for triggering mentions of kidnapping, underage rape, and murder.  
> This bastard had it coming.

The massive gears overhead turned slowly--the low groaning and grinding the only sounds in the massive clock tower. The only light in the massive chamber coming from the full moon's light, shining through the stained glass, and melding with the soft light from the numerous candles--some arranged in steel torches along the walls, set in great stone disks on the floors, and others in holders--crafted of silver, gold, and pewter--in every size.

The man groaned weakly, trying to sit up--the pounding in his head making it difficult to remember how he had ended up in this place...where was this place? Slowly the man's eyes adjusted to the candlelight as he laid on the cold hardwood floor; he shifted again--trying to make himself move--but soon realized that his wrists and ankles had been tightly bound in rope. A shot of fear flooded him as he began to struggle harder--forget the hows or whys...all that mattered was trying to escape from the expertly tied knots and find a way out of this room.

Through the near silence, came faint strains of guitar music; the man stilled and looked around--trying to see where the music was coming from. His eyes finally landed on a figure leaning against the iron door frame through the glass that lead to a stone and iron balcony; the figure had their head bowed as they continued to strum the guitar--bathed in the moon's silver light. The man trembled from fear--what if that person was who had brought him here? Where was here? Why was he here?!

"Who are you?! Why--?!"

"Do shut up. Your voice is breaking my concentration." Came a smooth, Italian-accented woman's voice; the figure stepped from the doorway, setting the guitar against the inside frame. Slow bootsteps echoed through the chamber--seemingly keeping in time with the gears above and the man's labored breathing...or was his breathing in time with the gears and the woman's steps? The woman stood over the man, looking down at him through eyes as green as a cat's--golden fire seemingly dancing at their centers; the woman knealt, tilting her head to one side--her shoulder-length, shaggy hair the color of liquid mercury and seemingly glowing against the dark tan of her skin. A smug smirk formed on her bare lips--a twisted amusement visible in those khol-ringed eyes.

"It's about time you woke--I was beginning to grow bored with waiting." The woman said as she reached forward and coiled her fingers into the man's short hair--wrenching his head forward--her expression losing its smug amusement as cold anger took over; her tone dropped dangerously, almost turning into a low hiss. "I don't like being kept waiting."

The man's eyes were wide in fear--every instinct in him screamed to try to get free, to run...to do something other than lay there like a ragdoll! The woman just shook her head and rose--the smug amusement returning as she turned on her heel and walked across the room--lighting a few more candles with the silvery Zippo in her hand..

"Wh-why am I here?! Where is here?! Who are you?!" The man shouted as he struggled in his bonds--the woman just continuing with what she was doing, seemingly ignoring him. In the growing light, he was able to make out more of the chamber he was in.

Massive wooden bookshelves lined the walls--crammed full of books, scrolls, and tablets; against a far wall rested an old record player and modern stereo system, with stacks of records and modern CDs arranged in open steel boxes. The wood and stone walls were adorned in draped cloths of deep red hues, sheer silvers and whites, and blacks; papers containing strange circles and arrangements of symbols were stuck on the walls--interspaced by ink writing on the walls themselves. Three leather-covered steamer trunks rested against another wall--each one having an instrument near...one a set of drums, another had a bass guitar, and the last had a keyboard resting on top of it.

The woman walked over to what looked like three massive armoires and opened each one; she hummed as she pulled out several items from each--arranging each thing on one of the three long wooden tables that created the image of a horseshoe near the the armoires. The man shook as he watched--not sure of what he was seeing, only knowing that he was terrified by what she would do when she was done. The woman walked back over to him--he was now able to get a good look at his captor.

Silver hair, tanned skin, khol-ringed eyes hued like a cat's...clad in an ivory-colored linen shirt with a wide collar that exposed her throat and the lines of her shoulders--the short lace-up in the front, at the collar, had been loosened, allowing a glimpse of the top of the pale-colored bustier beneath; her legs were covered in sable-hued leather breeches--a long sash of rich crimson encircling her waist and draping her hips--and covered to the knee by the ink-black leather riding boots she wore. Several leather cords encircled her throat--draping to below her collarbone; each cord held a pendant of its own--a golden sun, a silver moon, a silver anhk; a slender chain of silver hung around her tanned neck, the pendant secured on it made of fine pewter--but the strange symbol was something that the man could not place.

The woman actually chuckled as she knealt and began walking around the man--drawing a circle in chalk around him; the man blinked then began struggling further as the woman continued drawing the circle and the symbols inside of the rings. The woman looked at him when she was done, raising a silver brow at his struggling--like a scientist watching a rat struggle in its maze.

She gave a small shrug and returned to the table, picking up an urn of fine marble; she returned to the man, removing the lid and reaching into the vessel--her tanned hand emerging full of shimmering salt. She resumed circling the man, using the salt to create a secondary circle outside of the chalk one--carefully crafting each symbol until the urn was emptied. The man struggled violently--trying anything to loosen the ropes ensnaring his wrists and ankles, but the knots would not give way. The woman went to the table again, carefully choosing a few delicate-seeming candles from a box before returning and setting the candles up along the border between the chalk circle and the salt one--lighting each one with a match when the circle of candles was finished. She blew out the last match and rose from her knees to stand, glaring in disapproval at the man struggling at her feet like the vermin he was in her eyes.

"Now, now--stop doing that; I am in no mood to have to start over."

"Why am I here?!" The man screamed out in panic. "Who the fucking hell are you?! What are you doing?!!"

"So full of irritating questions, aren't you?" The woman said, crossing her arms beneath the line of her breasts--an irritated scowl crossing the model-beautiful face she bore; the man's eyes were wide as he tried to pull at his bonds. 

"But...I suppose I can indulge you abit...as your 'last request'." The silver-haired woman said with a smirk--razor-sharp fangs now visible in the candlelight; the man's blood ran cold as ice at the sight.

The woman smirked and knealt, cupping a hand to the man's face in a parody of gentleness...until her long, claw-like fingernails grew and sharpened into dagger-like talons that easily cut into his flesh, drawing tiny rivers of scarlet blood. She leaned forward and licked one of the tiny wounds--drawing back and running her tongue over her lips with a pleased sounding purr.

"Where you are is my private study--my personal lab and workshop; you should feel honored...I normally refuse to allow anyone, save for a very select few, into this magnificent place. As for who I am...well--I don't think you need to know that, now do you? Names have such power..but now they are so unimportant--your name is worthless to me, and you are simply too unworthy to know mine." The woman said with a chuckle, her unnatural eyes locked with the man's terrified ones--her pupils pulsed before shrinking to tight slits, the irises taking on an inhuman glow for a brief moment. "As for the why...well--allow me to read you a most tragic little tale...then we shall discuss the ending."

With that, the woman rose and stepped away--returning to the table and picking up what seemed to be a manila folder; she turned and leaned her hips back on the table as she opened the folder.

"Right; let's see now...oh yes. "Daphne Elaine Myers, age 14", "Christina Marie Black, age 15", "Sophia Anna Thomas, age 14"...all three went missing on August 3rd while walking home from St. Andrews School for Girls; their remains were found on August 17th...in the sewers. All three girls showed evidence of rape and sodomy--repeated many times over the two weeks that they were missing." The woman tilted her head to one side, regarding the man with a raised brow before returning to her reading. "And here ofcourse..."All three had been beaten to death with a blunt object, most likely a hammer--cause of death appears to be from numerous blows to the skull"."

The man paled drastically at the woman's reading--his throat and mouth going dry as if they had been filled with cotton; he opened and closed his mouth--his struggling ceasing as the woman stepped away from the table and approached, continuing to read from the file in her hands.

"No bells ringing yet? Let's see about fixing that, then. "Each girl showed signs of starvation and beginning stages of dehydration; ligature marks were on their wrists and ankles, implying that they were kept restrained by what were most likely leather straps and steel handcuffs"." The woman knealt down so she was level with the man, her eyes seeming to take on a demonic glow from the candlelight casting dark shadows on her face. "And lastly..."no physical evidence to identify a killer was able to be found due to contamination from the sewers where the bodies were found"."

At that, the woman snapped the folder closed infront of the man's face; the man yelped and tried to move back from her, only for a hand to latch onto the front of his stained shirt and jerk him in close--he could feel her icy breath on his unshaven face as her eyes seemed to bore into him as if she were looking at something mounted on a slide.

"They couldn't find evidence...but I did--and all of it...lead back to you." The woman whispered--her Italian accent as smooth as silk; the man trembled in fear--unable to even attempt to speak. The woman's hand released him as she stood--returning to the other side of the chamber to carefully put the folder away. "You...have been a very, very bad man."

"I--I--I didn't do it!" He shouted only for the woman to appear right next to him with her hand wrapped around his throat; the woman snarled and leaned forward, sinking her dagger-like teeth into the exposed flesh of the man's shoulder--tearing her head back and spitting out the chunk of flesh before bending her head and proceeding to gulp down mouthfuls of hot blood as the man let loose a horrified, agonized scream. She jerked up--her frozen glare leveling with his own terrified eyes, his blood staining around her mouth and on her teeth.

"Liar. Filthy liar!! You think I can't tell the truth from you?! Ghosts don't lie and neither does your scent...your twisted heartbeat." The woman snarled--her face seemingly losing any trace of humanity in the candlelight; she dropped him into the center of the circle before sweeping her hands back into her hair--running her fingers through her hair so that the choppy locks fell from her hands in a sloppy cascade as she seemed to calm herself, carefully bringing her hands forward and cleaning up the blood on her face. "I can see...the innocent blood all over your hands."

The man was shaking and trying to breathe despite the blood gushing from the wound in his shoulder--the woman's bite having just missed the vital artery; the fear of death...the fear of this woman, this monster...the fear itself had chilled his blood, leaving his body growing frighteningly numb. The woman glanced back at the man a moment before turning fully to kneel infront of him once more.

"No matter. An evil, unrepentant soul such as yours can still have a purpose." She said, a spine-chilling chuckle passing her lips as she knealt--lifting a small silver vial from her sash and raising it to the man's lips. She hooked the delicate chain around the man's head so that the vial was held to his lips. "Oh yes...an evil soul like yours will serve such a grand purpose for my end goal."

She moved to rest on her knees at the circles' edge, raising her hands so that they were level with her heart; the man tried to struggle in his bonds just as her hands met in a clap--the tanned palms then slamming down onto the inner chalk circle. Crimson light bled into the chalk--the circle and symbols taking on a deadly glow at a rapid pace; the man tried to scream, struggling violently as the light began to burn away his flesh wherever it touched--the last thing he saw was the crimson glow bringing the demonic light fully to life in the woman's eyes.

When the light dissipated, the woman reached into the center of where the chalk circle had been, carefully lifting the silver chain; she chuckled, watching as the softly glowing vial swung lightly from it's chain. She tilted her head back with a laugh--raising her other hand to caress the vial as she crossed the room and returned to the armoires.

"Oh yes...even your soul has a purpose in my grand design." She purred as she carefully hung the vial from a small brass hook secured to the inner rear wall of the armoire--the glowing vial resting next to the other one secured inside; a third hook remained empty on the far side--a tanned hand rising to delicately caress the small hook. "Two down...one more to go."

She drew back and rested her hands on the shelf just beneath the hanging vials; she raised a hand and caressed the ebony box resting there before opening the lid--a crimson glow came from within, illuminating the glowing stone resting on the velvet lining. The woman tilted her head back with a broken-sounding laugh before closing the box and stepping back to close the armoire; she turned back to the center of the room, still laughing before twirling and dancing to the center of the room as if she were in the throes of pure ecstasy.

"Two down..one to go." She said between fits of laughter as she walked over to the three steamer trunks--looking at the newspaper clippings and photographs fixed to the wall behind; she brushed her fingertips over each trunk and instrument with the careful reverance one used when handling a sacred object crafted from glass. Slowly she ran her fingers over the three female faces in the pictures--the mad look that had accompanied her laughter was now gone...replaced by deep sorrow and utter despair as her voice softened to a whisper. "Two down...one to go--then I will be able to fix all of this."

Slowly she stepped away from the wall and crossed the chamber, stopping to look up at the wall of stained glass as the rising sun set a rainbow of light through the glass; the woman laughed some--bathed in the shimmering rainbow as she had been in the candlelight. She held her arms out from herself as she began to dance beneath the glass-made rainbow--tonight...she would have the final soul...and the resurrection she had in mind would finally come to pass.

"Just...one more time."


	4. Act 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three assembled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dante's cat-and-mouse game returns with a vengeance.

One...two. 

One...two. One...two.

Long-nailed fingers tapped against the rain-slick brick wall of the alley--the two-hit rhythm both eerie and oddly comforting. Kohl-lined, 'cat-like' green eyes glared dispassionately through damp, mercury-colored bangs--so much to do...and all the time in the world left. Or perhaps not enough...one could never be sure, what with all of the questions that were being asked again--two well-known violent criminals going missing within two weeks, with no evidence left behind, had drawn far too much unneeded attention from too many sources. Whispers of a "killer of killers" circulated on the streets and in the depths of the underground...

As if that were the case in the slightest.

A scowl formed on the woman's tanned face--bronze-painted lips pressed in a thin line; this was not a matter of justice...not even vengeance. There was nothing personal in this save for the end result--all they were...were the chosen pieces of the puzzle needing to be put together. Ingredients in a sense--no regard, no vendetta...just scum that went unneeded; worthless vermin in life...but having a glorious purpose in death. 

Humans, the woman had long decided, were an idiotic lot that needed to glamorize and sensationalize everything--they could stand to learn that sometimes, there was nothing between the lines that needed to picked apart and read...at least...nothing that they ever needed to be concerned with.

Slowly, the woman stepped from the alley--the tails of her black-leather trenchcoat sweeping behind her like a cape, unhindered by the blood-red guitar secured on her back; her steps were sure and unphased on the water-drenched sidewalks--stiletto-heeled leather boots clicking against the concrete in a steady staccato rhythm. Her hands were hidden in the pockets on her coat as she walked--fingers toying with the silver vial safely secured beneath the outer layer of supple sable hide; it would not do for an ounce of harm to come to such an important piece to her plan...no, that would never do, not when she was so close to the end.

One more...she just needed to do this one more time.

The streetlights washed down on her--setting a weak sheen to the matte, blood-red latex corset and ink-dark leather pants she wore. Her head was bowed--eyes glaring from behind the thick, shaggy mane of shoulder-length hair. Her fingers flexed within the pockets--tension reading in her every movement. Perhaps it was best to not drag things out any longer--she was so close to the end that she could not waste even a second of time any longer...not with all of the questions that were being asked...not with the suspicious looks being cast on her when some believed that her back was turned. Did they believe her blind, deaf, and dumb? They simply did not understand--they could never understand...but they would know the truth by the end, and by then...they would not be able to stop her--no...no one would be able to stop her.

Suddenly she stopped beneath the yellowed wash of a streetlight--eyes narrowed darkly as she glanced to the side. The streets were more silent than normal--the moon, high in the sky, and stars were hidden by the thick clouds, casting everything in pitch black, beyond the streetlights' weary glows. The storm had silenced, but the unease remained in its wake--the silence stretched on...unnerving as an abandoned graveyard. The cold of the after-rain breeze clawed at the woman's form, but did not draw even a shudder from her. Her scowling expression relaxed into that of a closed, almost blissful smile, not unlike those reserved for Renaissance saints.

Someone, it seemed, wanted to change the game.

Well--she, thought with a barely suppressed smirk--who was she to try to stop the prey from coming so willingly to the predator?

The familiar electric surges of anticipation raced through her blood as she walked--she would need to let them follow her to somewhere far more...private.

The graveyard was a first thought, but was discarded as soon as it entered her mind; she had already played her games there once and doubted that the lovely, dark angel would wish to bear witness to her acts a second time. The angel--fallen and sinfully-hued as she appeared to be--might call down the wrath of the heavens themselves and that would put such a dreadful little kink in the woman's plans. She couldn't resist the chuckle that bubbled up in her throat at that--annoying as the heavens' wrath would be, even the gods and goddesses combined would not stop her now.

Perhaps she could lure her pursuer to her clock tower, but the woman merely shook her head at that thought; the clock tower was on the other side of town and it would take far too long to change directions and make that trip--why, the willing prey may very well lose their nerve! Unthinkable--absolutely unthinkable!

Continuing at her swift pace, the dark woman took a sharp turn down an alleyway--ears straining to hear the faint footsteps trailing behind her, trying their best to not be heard on the asphalt and concrete. Lips parted in a wicked smile--sharp canines nipping into her lower lips in pleasure at the sounds. A change of plan, yes...but what an utter delight! She so hoped that they would put up a fight against her--perhaps they were armed to the teeth with blades or guns? What a magnificent opportunity--a thrill and a rush as sweet as wine! She flexed her fists in anticipation--the familiar electric energy coursing through her as her power thrummed in time with her own growing excitement.

Down one alley, then another...left turn, right turn...closer and closer--yes, give chase! Run, run and follow! Water splashing beneath matched pairs of boots before coming to a stop--ah...the deadend to the path...how utterly fitting. She turned to the mouth of the alleyway, cat-like green eyes locking eagerly on the man standing at the entrance to the alley...approaching cockily with a gun at his side. She couldn't help the sultry purr that escaped her as she licked her lips in thought--oh yes...this one would ever so nicely. Yes--'come into my parlor' said the black widow to the hapless fly.

"Alright lady. Nice and easy--fork over all your cash and jewelry." The man sneered as he approached, the gun trained on the woman--a freak in his opinion, but there was no way that silver jewelry was fake, and all that leather? The latex? The guitar? Easy pickings.

"And...why would I do that?" She purred--it had been a while since she had been 'threatened'...pity he wasn't better looking though, but--then again--she found so few to be attractive these days. Nonetheless, he could atleast be cleaner--old sweat, stale beer, filth, decay, and whatever whore's perfume had attached to him hardly made for an appealing combination. "Simply because you have that popgun?"

"Can it, bitch!" The thug could only sneer as he jammed the matte-black Glock beneath her chin, forcing the weapon to press with bruising force into the soft flesh beneath her jaw. "Cash and jewelry now!"

"I think...not." Came the smooth reply just as the woman's kohl-lined eyes took on a demonic gleam--her own hand coming up to grasp the hand holding the gun and wrench it away, flinging the man into the slick brick wall as if she were tossing and old blanket aside. The man shook his head, confused and ears ringing before jerking his head up to see the smirk forming on the mercury-haired woman's face as she spoke, slow and sultry as she walked towards him--the tails of her trenchcoat sweeping gracefully behind her. "I am quite bored...so...let us play a little game. If you win...I might be tempted to let you live."

The man pressed back to the wall just as the woman leaned in close--her cold hand brushing over his cheek in a mockery of a lover's caress, the sharp claws nicking his stubbled flesh as she whispered in his ear. "Start running."

He blinked, eyes wide when he realized he was alone...then a cold rush of terror flooding his senses as he shoved himself from the wall and proceeded to run down the alley, eyes wild in growing panic as he realized that he had no idea where he was. That...that crazy bitch! When he was chasing her--no! No! He ran down an alley--right turn, left turn...no...left turn, right turn! NO!!! The walls seemed to shift and change with each clap of thunder as the rain began to pour down once more--was that lighting arching over the bricks and stone as he ran down each alley? He wasn't sure anymore--this...this was a nightmare, right?! This wasn't real!!

Right turn--deadend! Backtrack, left turn...left turn--deadend! Backtrack, right turn! Keep running!

He jerked violently at the shadows seeming to move along the walls, jerking his gun up and proceeding to fire blindly at the darkness--bullets ricocheting off of battered brick and rusting metal dumpsters; each shot causing a mocking laugh to echo through the darkness as the thunder rolled and the lightning continued to race across the sky--painting the maze of alleyways into a stark contrast of light and dark. 

The gun clicked, signifying his clip was spent; in fury he hurled the weapon at the nearest shadow before barreling down an alley--crashing into a series of trashcans that sent him sprawling into a rapidly spreading puddle of water. He forced himself to his feet and raced down a narrow side alley--twisting his head to look behind him and crashing into a chain link fence. He bounced back off of the rusting, rain-slicked fence and felt himself hit a solid brick wall...behind him?!

He jerked around, staring in horror at the wall that now sealed off his way back--crimson lightning crackling over the masonry; a sudden crack of thunder made him twist to look behind himself as a wall of brick and concrete rose violently along the back side of the fence in an array of bright crimson light, effectively sealing him in! He turned around, trying desperately to find a way out as he banged his fists against the bricks--a trick...this all had to be an illusion, a nightmare!!

"Well...that was all quite dull." Came the slow, Italian-accented voice from atop the wall--the tones sending a cold chill racing through the man's body; he whipped around to glare up at the top of the wall...only to see her drop down to stand in front of him, her hands coming up to slam to the wall behind him, pinning him to the masonry and leveling a predatory glare on him--the harsh white lightning causing her face to take on a far more sinister appearance than anything human should be able to. "You bored me, fool. I do not like being bored."

Her head jerked forward and sudden pain flooded his sense as her dagger-sharp teeth tore into his throat--choking off his screams into a sickening gurgling as darkness washed over his vision.

When next he opened his eyes, he was on a filthy wooden floor--an ornate circle drawn in chalk surrounding him; he tried to move, only finding his wrists and ankles bound in zip-ties. He tried to open his mouth, but a silver vial was pressed tightly to his lips--a silver chain binding the chain to his head. He tried to look around, tried to see through the darkness, but only found an abyss surrounding him.

A crack of thunder, and flash of lightning illuminated the burned out room and there she was, standing just outside the circle, right near his head; she smirked down at him and all he saw was the clap of her hands before crimson light washed over his sight. As the light faded, she stepped forward into the once circle and picked up the delicate silver chain--caressing the vial with one hand as tears of joy began to fall from her eyes.

An unworthy soul, truly...but beggars cannot be choosers, can they? Yes...now was the time...now she would fix all of this.

"Game...set...match."


	5. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Game...  
> Set...  
> Match.
> 
> Time to make a comeback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of the road for the main story.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this ride and read the other pieces in the series.

Gears ground heavily overhead as a darkly tanned hand drew the chalk circle with infinite care--every line had to be perfect...not too thick, not too thin...even the smallest of errors now could be a disaster that she could not bear. Slowly, the mercury-haired woman rose from her crouch and eyed the ornate circle stretching across the ancient wood of the floor--kohl-lined cat-green eyes practically gleaming with pleasure as a self-satisfied smirk twisted its way onto bronze-painted lips, a hint of fangs glinting.

_'Finally...finally...'_

With liquid grace, she crossed the candlelit chamber to set aside the chalk and pick up a black marble urn--lovingly caressing the pads of her fingers over the smooth, polished stone; it was tempting to move forward...but no...nothing good was ever taken in haste. She set the urn down and drew up a series of ornate glass jars from a wooden box, before returning to the circle and carefully emptying each jar into three untidy, yet even, piles within the circle--not too much, not too little...everything had to be perfectly exact.

Carbon...calcium...phosphorus...potassium...sulfur...sodium...cholrine...magnesium--no need to worry too much...oxygen, hydrogen, and nitrogen were simple enough to pull from the air itself. It never ceased to fascinate her with how such simple, basic components could come together into something so utterly magnificent--and she would see that magnificence, oh yes. Having the opportunity to watch these simple pieces become the individual wholes--thrilling, absolutely thrilling!

Another series of smaller glass jars were brought over--iron was needed, cannot forget that...nor any of the trace elements now. Trace elements...simple and minor by comparison to the rest, but useful in the end--it would do not good to miss even the smallest of ingredients, would it? No...there was no second chance with this and she knew it. If even one tiny piece of the puzzle was off by even the slightest of degrees...no; it did no good to dwell on the calamity that would befall.

As she returned to the row of long tables, she stopped and leaned over--was it simply the rush of her free-flowing power, the thrill of being so very close to her goals, that seemed to heighten her awareness and sensitivity to everything around her? She chuckled to herself--running her long-nailed fingers absentmindedly up the full-sleeve of the ivory-toned, linen shirt that she wore to her exposed shoulders and collarbones--the pads of her fingers caressing the pewter symbol of 'the Gray Wolf' suspended at the hollow of her throat on its black leather cord. She turned quickly to survey her current work and leaned back on the table--crossing long, leather-covered legs at the ankles of her black leather boots as she arched her back, savoring the pulsing thrum of electricity charging the air around her. Yes...so close--so agonizingly close that she could taste it on her lips!

_'No...enough of that for now. There is work yet to be done.'_

She turned back to the table and drew up a small box, opening it as she made her way back to the circle. With infinite care, she drew out three cuttings of hair--short-ish pale blonde, long and curly black, wavy red-toned brown--and placed each cutting on each pile of basic elements. She shifted the box so that it was under her arm and plucked a penknife from the folds of her embroidered, crimson sash; a simple slice on the palm of her hand, and her own tainted, cursed blood joined the mix. For a moment, she could only marvel at the way that her blood seemed to mix on its own with the chemical compounds on the floor, before a small scowl formed on her face.

She would not lose everything a second time--that she would not. She would not fail this time--ten years in the making...she would succeed or shred whatever was left of her tattered soul in the attempt.

Returning to the table, she set the box down and opened the armoire--the silver vials glowing softly as they rested, suspended on their chains. A broken, watery chuckle left her as she took each vial and began arranging each one at the foot of each of the piles--for a moment, she fantasized that she heard each of the wicked souls within still screaming in torment...what a delightful thought--they might think that she was the end of their dear, sweet agony? Oh...if only they knew.

_' Do not get ahead of yourself. The metronome is still counting down until you lose your chance.'_

She returned to the table and drew up the marble urn once more; as she drew up to the circle, she dipped her hand in and drew out a handful of salt...and proceeded to draw the secondary circle around the chalk one--taking as much care with each line and symbol as she had before. Once finished, she returned to the table for the box containing the candles she intended to use and began arranging them at the borders between the two circles--so close...and so few steps left to take. She lit each and every one of the candles--unable to resist humming a few bars to herself as she worked--off-handedly, she wondered what song had worked itself into her head...but discarded her concerns. She was losing time, wasn't she?

She blew out the match and tossed it over her shoulder--uncaring of where it fell...she could always clean it up later if she stumbled across it.

If...she survived seemed a better fit though, didn't it?

_'Get the stone! The end is drawing near!'_

She hurried back to the armoire and pulled out the ornate, ebony box--caressing the lid as if it were a lover beneath her hands. The final piece...the key to this all. She pushed the lid off--uncaring as it clattered on the floor--and stalked forward, the crimson glow within the box bathing her in a bloody scarlet light. Slowly, she removed the stone from the velvet-lined box--relishing in how it pulsed in the palm of her hand like a living heartbeat. She caressed the stone in her hands--licking her lips in her eagerness, but reminding herself to be patient...to take her time to make sure that everything was perfect. No mistakes...never again.

After placing the stone in the center of the circle, she returned to the outer edge of the salt circle and knealt down. Bringing her hands up, she raked claw-nailed fingers through her silvery locks--sweeping them back from her face as tears of joy began to fall from her eyes...eyes now alight with bright green fire. She brought her hands up infront of her and clapped her hands...slamming her palms down onto the circle--red lightning crackling from her arms, through her hands and into the circle...tearing through the thin sleeves of her shirt and drawing rivers of blood to flow down into the circle.

Brilliant crimson light swept through the circle and washed over her sight as screams of absolute agony ripped and tore through the air.

= = = 

The bled out corpse dropped to the ground and the blonde woman scoffed--her normally pale lips colored in dark crimson and ruby from the way that she had so viciously torn the man's throat out in her bloodlust. She ran her fingers over the shorn sides and back of the undercut style she preferred for her platinum blonde hair. She wiped at her mouth with the collar of the well-worn, dusty-green plaid shirt that she wore--a faded-black concert tanktop underneath and paired with the dark gray, bleach-splattered and torn jeans that she wore. She rolled her eyes and drew up a cigarette from the battered pack in her overshirt, and pulled out a half-empty matchbook--taking one match and striking it to light the slender white cylinder between her lips. In annoyance, she tapped a combat-boot clad foot to the alleyway as her 'sisters' finished their own meals.

The darker-skinned Hispanic calmly dropped her victim--wiping neatly at her mouth with her fingertips to wipe away any stray drops of the precious liquid...as if she needed to--her bite was far cleaner than the blonde's after all. She drew out a small compact mirror and calmly checked to see if the feed had smeared her wine-red lipstick--pleased to see that it was a minimal effect. As she put the mirror up, she, with a critical eye, examined her clothing for imperfection--her white sleeveless croptop, cut into a deep open 'v' to expose the gold lame bikini top beneath, was free of any stray spots of crimson or scarlet. Her white, low-rise cargo pants were... _passable_ \--no blood, but dusted with the usual grime of this city. 

With a laugh, she turned on her heel--golden, metallic, strappy stilettos splashing lightly in the stary blood puddle as she all-but sashayed her way to the blonde. "Easy with the glaring now, Christina--your face will stick, chica."

"You are such a priss, Marisol." She took a drag on her cigarette, exhaling a puff of smoke...yet a wry half-smirk rested on her lips. "Never changes."

Both looked over when another body fell, the dark skinned woman in the dip-dyed blue mini-dress and white shorts almost stumbling back abit--eyes wide from the rush left behind by the act. She ran her fingers up through her long, curly black hair--letting it fall from above her head to flow down her back in a beguiling, sloppy cascade--before turning to the other two. She laughed almost madly--her knee-high white boots and the long sleeves of her fitted dress speckled with crimson as she hurried over to them--euphoria on her face. "Why did I not do this sooner? I feel incredible!"

"Because you were so sketchy 'bout the whole thing, Tonya." The Hispanic woman laughed as she helped keep her 'sister' properly righted; all three stopped and looked on as the staccato rhythm of bootsteps came from the shadows. Slowly, the mercury-haired, woman stepped into the moonlight--kohl-lined eyes glowing hot red in a sea of black as she smiled...her teeth a series of dagger-sharp points.

"How we all doing tonight?" Came that smooth, slow Italian accent--rich as the most expensive wine and cold as ice. The three women grinned, bloodied razor sharp teeth bared--their own eyes bright scarlet in comparison to the silver-haired one's own as she walked over--casually crushing a corpse's hand beneath her boots.

"Just...finishing up our supper, Dante." Came the blonde's rougher tone--like leather and cigarettes; the other two couldn't avoid the pleased laughter echoing from them when the silver-haired one's smile widened just before her next words left her bronze-painted lips.

"Good...who's up for making a _comeback_?"


End file.
